‘It’s got nothing to do with this,’ insisted Compton. ‘We’d gone up to London for an antiques fair at the Russell Hotel. This security system exhibition was on at the same time at a different hotel – I forget the name . . .’
‘The Griffin,’ his wife reminded him.
‘That’s right . . . Anyway, Guardtech, the firm that fitted up the alarm systems here, had sent us an invitation, so we looked in for a couple of hours. I was in the bar. Jill had gone off somewhere.’
‘I was powdering my nose,’ she told him.
‘Well – whatever. This woman comes up to me and asks for a light. Suddenly, her drunken lout of a husband staggers over and accuses me of trying to take his wife away from him. I didn’t want any trouble, so I turned to go. He swings a punch at me, misses by miles and falls flat on his face. It turned out he was a salesman for Guardtech security systems. Their sales manager came over and apologized. Said this chap was insanely jealous of his wife and had been knocking back the free booze all day, just spoiling for a fight with anyone.’
‘Do you remember his name?’ asked Gilmore, hopefully.
Compton shook his head.
‘His name was Bradbury, darling,’ said his wife, looking proud that she could supply important information. ‘Simon Bradbury.’
‘Something like that,’ grunted Compton begrudgingly. ‘But you’re wasting your time going after him. He lives in London.’
While Gilmore scribbled the name in his notebook, Frost stood up and wound his scarf round his neck. ‘We’ll check him out, anyway. If anything else happens, phone the station right away.’
Mark Compton’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. ‘You’re just walking away? For God’s sake, man, my wife’s life has been threatened. I want round-the-clock protection.’
Frost shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ll get an area car to make a detour from time to time, just to keep an eye on the place, but we haven’t got the resources for twenty-four-hour surveillance.’
Compton’s voice rose to a shout. ‘Bloody marvellous! Well, let’s make one thing clear. If the police won’t do anything, then I will. If he lays one finger on my wife, and I catch the bastard, I’ll kill him with my bare hands, and that’s a bloody promise.’
The Fire Investigations Officer was sitting in the back seat of the Cortina waiting for them. He declined a cigarette, pleading a sore throat. ‘I think I’m coming down with flu, Jack. Half the watch are off with it.’
‘Tell me what you’ve found and then push off,’ said Frost. ‘I don’t want to catch it from you.’
The fireman passed across a plastic envelope. Inside was a chunk of burnt wood with a snail’s trail of a dirty grey waxy substance dribbled over it. ‘Candle grease from an ordinary household candle. And I’ve found several scraps of burnt cloth. My guess is that the fire was set off by a stump of candle burning down to some inflammable material – possibly rags soaked in petrol.’
Frost handed the envelope back. ‘How long would a fuse like that take to burn down?’
The fireman scratched his chin. ‘Depends on the length of the candle, but I shouldn’t think they’d use a full one, not in that situation. Too much risk of it toppling over or getting blown out. The more reliable way is just to use a stump, the shorter the better and then you’re talking an hour – maybe a lot less.’
‘But if they did use a full-length one?’
‘Four and a half hours top whack.’
Frost chewed this over and stared up at the black-clouded sky through the windscreen. ‘How good is that sprinkler system in The Mill?’
‘Damn good.’
‘Even if petrol was used again?’
‘It would definitely keep it under control until we got here.’ His nose wrinkled and his eyes widened as he dived into his pocket for his handkerchief, but too late. His violent sneeze rocked the car.
‘Thanks a bunch,’ grunted Frost. ‘Flu germs are all we bleeding need.’
The Cortina bumped down the puddled lane on its way back to Denton. An agitated Gilmore, concerned about his delayed meeting with the Divisional Commander, was fidgeting impatiently, willing the inspector to drive faster. Frost seemed to be driving by remote control, his mind elsewhere, his cigarette burning dangerously close to his lip. They were approaching the gloomy Denton Woods before Frost spoke. ‘What did you think of Jill Compton?’
‘A knock-out,’ admitted Gilmore.
Frost wound down the window and spat out his cigarette.